


Dreaming In Deja Vu

by HexMeridian (myrainbowshoelaces)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beginnings, Dream Sex, Existential Angst, Hope, Love, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Porn with Feelings, Smut, ex sex kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrainbowshoelaces/pseuds/HexMeridian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Brain Ghost Dirk, and even after everything you, every iteration of you, has been through, Jake English still believes in you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming In Deja Vu

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a fantastic discussion on the Davekat Discord about #letjakefuckaghost2k16, with some added angst and existentialism. Also a song by one of my favourite bands. I give you Brain Ghost Dirk starring in Jake's dreams and accidentally getting believed into existence. Hope everyone enjoys, and if you like it, I'm anticipating at least a couple more stories that will follow this one.

_In my youth I chose a quiet way,_  
_You were there and passed me everyday._  
_You always made it so easy,_  
_But I can't go back and you won't come back._  
_All my nights I take a bed of sand._  
_And that day I would have called your name and taken your hand._  
_This all is sounding so easy but I can't go back and you wont come back._

_After the day, after the sun is in bed, the sky is this electric blue._  
_After the daylight, I'm dreaming in deja vu, the only time I can have you_

  
\-- From ‘Dreaming In Deja Vu’ by Greek Fire  
([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XH6kYBxlC3w))

__

Your name is Brain Ghost Dirk and you know that you shouldn’t exist. This would probably upset any other dude in paradox space, but even in this intangible form you know that upset is not in the Strider playbook. It’s up there with talking about your feelings and admitting to liking My Little Pony unironically, that shit just does not fly, it has been grounded for the foreseeable future, all commercial flights cancelled, better catch a bus next time kids because this airport is a no fly zone.

Your status as a weird splinter-shard-figment of the imagination is not upsetting so much as it’s straight up uncomfortable most of the time. During the game you had a purpose, it wasn’t difficult to parse what was required of you, the role you filled. Jake was in trouble, Jake needed help, needed someone to protect him. He wanted a Knight, and even as a Prince, you obliged. Shit, you tried to rip the soul out of someone. At least you think you did, that part’s a little hazy since it’s hazy in Real Dirk’s memories, just like everything else that took place before Egbert started hopping around the timelines like an Easter bunny giving out eggs. It’s solid in your own memories though, an indisputable fact, and since you don’t have many of those to go on, you take them where you can get them.

You think your memories are so often yours and simultaneously not yours that making any attempt to parse them beyond that just gives you a headache, and that’s an accomplishment for someone who doesn’t actually have a head.

The game’s been over for a while now, and whenever you do flicker back into the realm of the real, it’s because Jake is dreaming you. Or sometimes daydreaming you. It threw you off at first, how you’d suddenly pop into existence in the background of a dream scenario, how you’d sometimes wink into reality when Jake’s sitting in his room, dozing or reminiscing. It’s not overly awkward at first, you’re just kind of there, experiencing an almost voyeuristic all-access pass into the mind of Jake English, reliving his experiences, his regrets, his hopes.

Unsurprisingly. The hopes are where you came from in the first place, after all.

(You play with that idea sometimes, when you’re fully formed enough, refer to yourself as the Spawn of Hope and get a kick out of it, seriously you should write a book or something, _Memoirs of a Brain Ghost: My Life as a Figment of My Ex-Boyfriend’s Imagination_ , or something).

You realize that he’s reliving more than just generic romantic hopeful ideas of what he had with Real Dirk a little while after that first time you wink back into existence. Your splintered memories fill the gaps in easily, echoes of echoes taking you back to those moments Jake had with you (Real Dirk, not you, he’s not you, you’re painfully aware of that every time this happens, none of this actually happened to you no matter how visceral the ghost (ha) of it seems to be) on your respective planets, between the madcap adventures, before that weird as fuck incident with the lollipop that you and literally every other iteration of Dirk, Real or Imagined or Artificial Intelligence, wish you could forget.

You figure this out when you pop into existence just long enough to realize that you’re in Jake’s room, and it’s dark outside and the stars twinkle alongside that screaming mockery of a ‘thanks for playing’ sign, and his breath is shallow, rapid, not distressed but distracted, almost desperate.

Then he whispers your name in a breathless little sigh and you feel your ghost heart stop in its intangible chest. As you wink out of existence you realize what he was doing, what he was thinking about, and you feel a blinding flash of emotion that overwhelms you, your own guilt, pain, regret, so much goddamned regret.

You think of how much any and every iteration of Dirk Strider could have done better by Jake English, how he deserved so much more than any of you had given him, even the part of you created expressly by him. Then oblivion swallows you again.

You don’t expect to come back so soon, usually it takes days, even weeks (not that you can tell until you come back, you’re still at a total loss as to how the fuck that even works, and it’s one more thing to add to the laundry list of shit that should upset you but you’re pretty chill with, because of that vice-grip lockdown you’ve got on your brain, Fort Knox has nothing on Brain Ghost Dirk Strider’s ability to keep shit under wraps), but you’re back that same night, except it’s not in Jake’s room. It’s not even real, you realize fairly quickly, the sky's too blue and the air smells too sweet.

It’s easy to recognize a dream when your entire existence is based in imagination.

Jake’s in a cabin, a completed version of the one you know he’s building in his free time in the mountains not far from Can Town. There’s a worktable covered in oddly shaped skulls and dusty artifacts, an open window letting in mountain air, crisp and cold (how the fuck are you feeling the temperature? You’re a figment, a fragment, you don’t have nerves, or skin, or any other way of detecting sensation), a fire in the grate, old tomes harvested from libraries strewn across a coffee table.

And Jake is standing in the doorway, staring right at you.

“Is this a dream?” he asks, his tone suspicious, anxious.

“If you can see me it is,” you reply, cautious. What does this mean? Why are you here? Why did he bring you here? “Not the dream bubble kind, thank fuck, pretty sure it’s just a regular old nocturnal jaunt through your subconscious for you, dude.”

Jake is still suspicious. “I suppose…” he says. “I just… wasn’t expecting to see you here, Dirk, that’s all.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here,” you shrug (at least it feels like you shrug. Intangibility is weird). “Course, I don’t really expect to be anywhere, it just kinda happens, the perks of being a weird brain splinter stuck in someone else’s mind.”

He isn’t expecting that, and backs up a step, confused, almost disbelieving (but only almost, there’s practically nothing Jake English will disbelieve), as he stares at you. “Are you… Brain Ghost Dirk?”

“That’s my name,” you shrug again. “Don’t wear it out. Or, y’know, do, if you like, you seemed like you were on your way to doing that before you fell asleep tonight.”

Jake’s face colours a bit and he steps forward again, indignant. “Excuse you!” he snaps. “What I do with my own private time is nobody’s business!”

“I’m literally a figment of your hope-filled imagination, dude,” you say. “And if you’re thinking about me when you’re giving your trouser snake the five-fingered salute and then suddenly I wink into existence? Then yeah, that might be my business.”

Jake sputters, his face turning crimson. “I… I wasn’t thinking about you!”

“Look,” you sigh, exasperated, and fold your arms (which is weird, you actually have arms this time, most of the time existing is just a matter of consciousness, not any kind of body, intangible or otherwise). “I can’t exist unless you will it. That’s a basic fact, I’m putting it out on the table where we can both see it. So, if you were spanking it and I appeared? You were thinking about me. That simple.”

Jake folds his arms too, mirroring you (just like he always did when the two of you would talk, fuck, that wasn’t you, was it? Shit, why is everything blurring together? You know you’re Brain Ghost Dirk, it’s the only way you can be here, but those memories, those are definitely Real Dirk’s memories). “So you’re saying that I summoned you?”

“It’s the only way I can be here,” you spread your hands, almost a picture of innocence. “Or anywhere really. You think about me, suddenly there I am, doesn’t matter if you’re hanging out with Real me or reminiscing or…” you trail off, eyebrows quirking a little. “Having your own private time. Whatever the fuck that means, you couldn’t come up with a decent euphemism?”

“Honestly Dirk, not everyone is as fixated as you are in the need to turn everything into a convoluted ironic tangent!”

You smile. “I figured maybe some of that’d rub off on you,” you say. “I mean, I know our relationship… okay your relationship with Real Dirk, kinda went down in flames, Hindenburg style, but there’s gotta be a part of you that can at least give ironic tangents a polite nod and a wink?”

He relents a little, his shoulders sagging. His expression changes into something you don’t recognize from him, but are intimately familiar with: regret. “Perhaps a cursory nod,” he admits. “I… would be lying if I said it wasn’t good to see you, Brain Ghost Dirk. It has been a while.”

“Years,” you agree. “I mean, except for when I randomly appearify into existence again, I still have no clue how it works.” You keep your gaze on him, part of you wanting to feel embarrassed but the rest of you thinking that’s stupid, you’re basically an imaginary friend, what more do you have to be embarrassed about? “I’m pretty sure I show up when you’re thinking about me, or at least when you’re thinking about some Dirk somewhere. If you’re thinking about the right shit, I guess it just… hopes me into existence?”

He flushes again, but doesn’t break your gaze. “And the right shit is apparently… when I reminisce during my… private times?”

You shrug. “I mean, unless you were platonically moaning my name into the back of your hand while you were shaking hands with Little English.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Jake presses a hand to his face, hiding his blush. “This is humiliating.”

You uncross your arms, feeling a lot more solid now, glancing down at your hands and being surprised that you actually have hands. Arms. Shades balanced on the end of your nose, comfortable god tier PJs. “It’s not like I mind,” you say. “Shit, it’s just nice to exist, even if it’s in the shame dungeon of your fantasy movie theatre.”

“It is NOT a dungeon, and it’s nothing shameful!” Jake protests, hands now on his hips. He’s still red, but he’s given up trying to hide it, like he’s accepted his fate. “If they’re my fantasies, I’m fairly certain I have free jurisdiction to imagine whatever I want!”

“Obviously,” you feel yourself smirk. “I mean, isn’t that how I’m here now?”

He falls silent, looking a little sad. You hate it, viscerally and painfully hate it, if there’s one thing Jake deserves it’s an unlimited supply of happiness and you know that you, or at least a part of you, is responsible for the expression on his face right now. “As many regrets as I have about the time that you and I, or…” his brow furrows. “I suppose, the Real you and I had together? This Brain Ghost versus Real dichotomy is really quite confusing.”

“Try living it,” you say, snorting a little. “Nobody’s more confused about my existence than me.”

He looks at you again and while the sadness remains on his face there’s a layer of something else there, a familiar hope that you know any iteration of Dirk Strider would recognize. “Do you… remember? I know you're not the Dirk I know in reality, of course, but I am aware of the connections that exist between all of Dirk’s various… well, splinters, I think he calls them. And…” he trails off, like he isn’t sure how to say what he wants to say. “Do you remember being with me?”

“Being with you how?” you know how, you’re painfully aware of how, more than you feel like you should be as a mental projection. It’s hot in the cabin now, almost like your skin is too tight, sweat beading on your forehead a little. Is this what it actually feels like to be human? To be alive?

Jake blushes again, and you kind of love it, he looks almost vulnerable, even under the confidence and the muscle and the dream dirt and grime of whatever adventure he had been on before you appeared. “Physically,” he says, tone sheepish. “I mean, I know Dirk and I had some… encounters… during the game, but most of them were after I dreamed you up. I wasn’t sure how much of that was information you were actually party to.”

You shrug again. “I mean, I remember it, but kinda the way you remember something happening in a book you read or a movie you watch. It happened, but I don’t know if it felt like it happened to me, if that makes sense.” You feel weird talking about this, like you’re expressing something private about yourself, about all of your selves. Dirk Strider has never been a talker, but you’re talking like you’re ready to fork over your entire life story and the movie rights to it. You keep going. “I mean, the hotness of Jake English is a universal Dirk Strider constant, doesn’t matter if I’m a Brain Ghost or a human or an artificial intelligence... you’re something we can all agree on as the fucking best thing that ever happened in our life.”

He’s a little taken aback - he’s not used to a Dirk who’s this frank either - and when he takes a step towards you, you find yourself mirroring him, stepping closer yourself. “I… suppose I didn’t actually know you felt that way,” he says, looking down at his shoes. “I mean, I’m not a complete idiot, I knew you wanted to be with me, knew it all too well in some aspects…” He’s thinking about how you can smother with your attention, can suffocate with your actions, and you feel sick (while also feeling the novelty of being sick, having a corporeal form is weird as fuck, okay?), knowing how much you’ve hurt him in one way or another over the years. “But you’ve never said anything like that.”

You smile, shaky and genuine. “... You always hoped though, right?”

He smiles back, green eyes sparkling a little, a light in them you’ve never seen before for yourself (it’s how he used to smile at Real Dirk, you know that, but it’s still new to you, real life instead of memory movie theatre). “I always did.”

He takes another step towards you and you mirror him again, close enough to breathe in his scent, feel the heat coming off of his body, and all of it is so new to you, so overwhelming. This is what it feels like to be close to Jake, to actually smell and hear and feel him. This is what you’ve been missing.

You wonder vaguely if Real Dirk misses Jake as much as you do, especially considering he’s the one who’s actually had the chance to be with him.

Then Jake leans in and presses his mouth to yours and you don’t give a single fuck any more.

The kiss starts slow, sweet, like saying hello after far too long apart even though this is the first time you’ve actually felt this for yourself, actually been solid and tangible enough to know what it means to be kissed, how it’s more than just a rush of emotion, it’s something that burns in your fingertips, creates a sparking fireworks display behind your eyes. It’s coming home for both of you but it’s a home you never even knew was there as opposed to his return after years of being gone.

You break the kiss but don’t go far, the warmth of his breath still on your lips, one of his hands slipping up to cup your cheek as you shake a little. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this much, and you try to think of something to say, a patented Strider witticism, a way to fill the sudden silence between you.

Jake kisses you again and you consider giving up verbal speech entirely, why the fuck would you ever need to talk when your lips can do this, when your tongues can press each other’s mouths open, when you can use your vocal chords to let out a needy sigh, no, a moan, that’s definitely a moan. You’re moaning into his mouth and he has one hand on your face, another at your waist, and you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in hard, pressing yourself flush against him.

You remember the first time even though this is your first time. You remember the way he kissed you even though you’ve never felt his lips before. You hear his low gasps for breath as your kisses become more fervent, more desperate, and you remember what to do with your hands to take his breath away, what to do with your mouth to make those sounds louder, to lift them up to something wild and untamed. It’s a collision of nostalgia, regret, old needs rising from the ashes, and of novelty, of pure adrenalin, of a desperate need to discover, to explore.

Jake presses his body against yours again, grip on your hips tightening and the hand on your cheek sliding back to wind its way through your hair. You feel him hard against you, straining against the fabric of his pants, and you groan, quiet but obvious. It’s like the closer he gets, the more real you feel, the more you exist in the moment.

He’s loving you into existence, and the thought spurs you on, your hand slipping away from his shoulder and brushing down Jake’s chest, barely grazing his belt and coming in to rest against his cock. He gasps, break the kiss, looks at you with a kind of wide-eyed wonder mixed with a hunger, and you know that’s something no version of you has ever seen from Jake.

“Dirk…” he whispers your name like it’s the answer to every question he’s ever asked, and you answer by catching his lips in another kiss, pressing your hand harder against him, stepping backwards carefully towards the couch. He follows at first, and then leads, almost pushing you down onto the cushions and climbing on top of you, his hands now fumbling at your shirt, trying to pull it over your head. It tangles around your shades and you jerk an arm upward, fighting to rid yourself of the clothes, of the glasses, of your defenses, of the need to hold back or regret or question anything except for him, the way he feels as he runs his hands over your chest, the way his breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you with that same desperation he always has (always had, always will have, any iteration of you will be someone he is desperate for, someone he needs, even in the wake of regret and mistakes).

You reach up to free him of his own shirt, hands hot over his chest, his abs, the curve of his hips where they peek out from the top of his shorts. He’s beautiful, he always has been, every time you see him like this he’s perfect, breathtaking, even to you, a Dirk who up until minutes ago didn’t technically have a breath to be taken away.

Jake leans down to kiss you again and you can feel yourself responding just as strongly as he is, your dick hard and making a tent in your god tier pyjamas, and you forget how to breathe for a moment because the difference between a memory of a boner and the actual physical sensation is a Wizard of Oz style ‘I’ve got a funny feeling we’re not in Kansas any more Toto’ shift from black and white to blazing technicolour.

You gasp for air and he jerks back, concerned. “You… alright?” he asks, panting a little.

You nod, knowing you’re blushing. Somewhere the universe is deducting coolness points from your total but you are beyond the furthest ring of giving a fuck. “Just… new feeling,” you manage. “Brain Ghost. Not exactly the Dirk you’ve been with.”

He cups your cheek in his hand again and he smiles, that swirl of sadness and burning need still in his eyes. “You’re still my Dirk,” he affirms. “I’m quite certain that every Dirk is my Dirk, in one way or another, no matter what.”

His words fill your mind like a song, like a prayer, like other stereotypes that never made sense to the consciousness you possessed. How can one word sound so much like music? How can his certainty that you’re _his_ sound like a plea to a listening god? Jake’s words are pure need and pure belief, and you can suddenly feel your heart pounding in your chest, the blood singing in your veins, the ache in your groin, the burning of tears behind your eyes.

He leans down and presses you into the couch again, sending another sensation symphony through your body (your body, you have a body, you can feel this, every inch and moment of this), his hands tracing your chest and your abs as his lips move carefully down your neck, almost painfully gentle, loving, like each point of contact between his lips and your skin is a gift.

(The last time Jake did this you (the Real You) cried and then denied it, pretended that it wasn’t affection you wanted, you craved, pretended that you were stoic and able to reason your way out of how deeply you felt him in your bones every time he touched you).

You’re pretty sure ghosts aren’t supposed to feel deja vu, but that’s the word that comes to mind as his hands move lower, hot and eager, shaking a little. You know he wants to take his time, Jake English is the king of the agonizingly slow build, the page of hoping he’ll rip your goddamn pants off and dispense with the foreplay entirely, making you the prince of his heart. He’s not taking his time now though, not after years of regretful reality that he can make up for in the fantasy realm he’s brought to life for himself, and he pulls down your pants, your boxers, carefully wraps his hand around you and gives you the sweetest and the firmest of pulls up and down your length.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” you groan and tilt your head back, the feel of his hand on your cock almost too much, impossibly good, warm and sensitive and perfect, making your hips buck automatically. You hear him chuckle and it warms you, fuels you, makes you all the more desperate for him any way you can have him. You aren’t sure what’s making you crave the feel of him inside you more, the memories of Real Dirk’s past or the anticipation of the unknown you harbor within yourself.

He kisses you again, your nerves on fire as he strokes you carefully, expertly, he knows exactly how much pressure to apply, how fast to go, and everything below your navel is aching, shaking, begging for him. You’ve never needed something so much in your life, and even if you were only believed into life moments ago, that makes the yearning so much sharper, deeper.

“Jake…” you whisper against his lips as he pulls away for breath, and he plants another kiss on your lips before letting go of you. You let out an involuntary sound, possibly a whimper (which is still absolutely something a cool dude can do when sex is involved, no judgement to you or any other Dirks who make noises like that where Jake English is concerned). You shift to figure out where he’s gone and see him unbuckling his own shorts, fighting the tangle of fabric between your own legs, stripping you both down before he leans over you, flush against you, hot and hard and ready, pressing kisses along your jaw until you can’t deny that the sound you’re making is whimpering, keening, begging as your dick rubs against his stomach. He pushes your legs up until you’re almost bent double, and that feeling of being securely under him washes over you, the feeling of being needed, wanted, taken, his.

He pauses only briefly (it feels like an eternity, you’re still shaking with the need for this, this first time that’s also the hundredth time, a reunion that’s also a greeting, a belief made solid in a dream realm), and you feel him press a cool finger into you, slick and an impossible combination of firm while also being gentle, and your hips buck again, begging him in further, harder, deeper, please.

Jake slips another finger in, then a third, careful (you don’t know where the lube came from but you aren’t going to question the physics of a dream world, that way lies true madness), and you moan, high and unrestrained, again struck with the mix of the familiar and the new, how much you love this from experience without having experienced it yourself.

“Please…” you whisper, and your voice cracks, high and strained, like you’re afraid of what it means to speak aloud the burning need that floods your entire being, but you aren’t afraid, aren’t nervous or hesitant, you want this more than you’ve ever wanted anything, and possibly more than Real Dirk has wanted anything either. After years of things unsaid, being apart, dealing with the hurt and regret, to be able to share this with Jake again, for the first time, in spite of the past, because of the present.

He smiles down at you, breathless and tense, like a coiled spring, a live wire, potential in every sense of the word, and he kisses you softly once more as he carefully lines the head of his cock up against your opening and presses forward, closer, slow enough to make you tilt your hips forward, trying to draw him in further, faster, more.

Jake moves deeper into you with a strained gentleness, like his urge to be inside you is strong but he knows he needs to be slow, careful, give you time to adjust. The memory of the first time you and Jake had sex is seared into your brain and it lines up frame for frame with this moment, another deja vu moment you shouldn’t be able to have if not for him, the man who believed you into existence and kept believing until he had you pressed into a couch in the dream universe version of his cabin in the mountains.

“I missed you,” he whispers, and you feel your insides melt, then clench as he pushes into you as deep as he can go, his hipbones against the back of your thighs. He finds one of your hands with his and interlaces your fingers, his other hand back to your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes and stroking your cheek.

You try to speak, try to tell him that you missed him too, even though that’s impossible, you never had this with him before to miss, even if part of you did once before it wasn’t you nowe, in this form, this section or splinter of Dirk Strider had never been so close to Jake English, so full of him, so fulfilled by the knowing that they were doing this for the first time once again, after everything that had happened.

You try to tell him that you love him, but your words turn into a soft gasp as he starts to move, still careful but firm, making sure you feel every inch of his cock as it slides in and out of you, like he understands that this is new for you while it’s old for him. His breath hitches in his throat as he moves a little faster, finding a rhythm, and in moments his soft gasps become loud groans, moans and sighs of pleasure, of need. They mix with your own, louder and higher than Jake’s but still a harmony, your voices matching and echoing around the wooden walls of the cabin, punctuated by the soft creaking sounds coming from the couch.

Your entire body feels electric with sensation, bursts of pleasure punctuating every thrust of Jake’s hips against you and juxtaposing the painful hardness of your dick, which still rubs against Jake’s stomach whenever he leans forward. It’s almost unbearable, the soft contact as the tip drags over his abs as his dick rubs against your prostate, his breathing shortens and his groans get louder, faster. He’s close, you know he’s close, and every movement brings you closer to your own release with agonizing slowness.

“Jake,” you manage, barely recognizing your own voice. “Jake, please, I … I need…”

He looks down at you and understands, taking his hand from your face and wrapping it around your dick again, setting all your nerves alight and making you arch your back, letting out another keening sound, thready and ragged and consisting of nothing but need, raw unadulterated desire for the love of this man, the love he gave to you, and to every other iteration of you.

“Dirk,” he murmurs, your name tumbling from his lips like a curse, a question, a hope (always a hope, you were made of his hope, it was the blood that ran through your veins and pulsed through your consciousness). “Aaaah, Dirk, I’m going to- _Ah!_ ”

You feel him come and as he fills you up, pulsing with release, his hand grips you a little tighter and moves a little faster, your hips bucking violently to greet him, to feel the friction pull you closer and closer to your edge.

Jake looks down at you, sleepy-eyed and flushed, and the way he stares, his impossible beauty, impossible hope, tips you over the point of no return and you come hard, seeing stars, fireworks, galaxies, nebulas, white hot births of universes, and surges to rival the big bang.

You lie slightly dazed beneath him as you return to your senses, all of them burning and overstimulated, and you can’t speak. You felt like this was more than existence, more than a tangible form, it was the knowledge that Jake had believed you to life again, even just in a dreamscape, a night for the two of you to share that resembled the past but built something new, hinted at something that almost looked like a future.

Jake slides away from you and then helps you shift so the two of you are tangled in something like a sitting position, his back against your chest and your legs touching. He’s practically curled up in your lap, still breathing heavy and leaning hard against you, eyes glassy and skin covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s beautiful and parts of you that remember the past ache with how much you want him to never leave your side again.

“I missed you,” Jake murmurs again, voice slurring a little, and it occurs to you that there’s a reason the two of you are here, in his mind, a space he can influence and maintain, a realm created purely of his own hope and need. It’s a safe place, one for someone he trusts, where he can hold onto the things that he’s lost, and maybe find a way back to them.

You’re still only a ghost of what he wants, you’ll always know that, but you feel his heart beating against your chest, his breath on your arm as he lazily pulls your hand up to kiss it, languid and sweet. He wanted this, and he wanted it with you. It didn’t matter which you, as long as they were Jake and Dirk and together and in love.

You hope that maybe after this, he’ll find a way to reconcile with the Real Dirk. You’re still pretty sure none of you deserve this, deserve him, but if there’s one thing Jake English has in spades, it’s belief, and you’re living proof. So to speak.

You wonder where you’ll go when he wakes up. You wonder if you’ll be back when he falls asleep again.

He sighs in your arms. “Will you stay here after I wake up, old chap?” he asks. Guess he had the same thought you did. “Or are you popping back into oblivion, or whatever it was you said.”

“No idea,” you say, and for the first time the words send a curl of fear through you. You don’t want to not exist, not after this, not after seeing what you (any version of you, all versions of you) could have, could be. At the end of the day though, what choice do you have? “Pretty sure even if I blink out of existence I’ll come back though.” You swallow. “You know, if you want me to.”

He kisses your hand again, definitely sleepy-sounding now. “Of course I want you to,” he mumbles. “When I said I missed you I wasn’t being facetious or anything, I really did miss you, I …” he makes a quiet sighing noise and stretches a bit before settling against your chest again, almost catlike, some kind of predatory creature settling in for a long nap. “I missed this.”

You brush your thumb lightly over his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say. “Me too. At least, the part of me that remembers it. The rest of me’s still trying to re-learn basic motor functions, holy shit.”

Jake chuckled, his voice very soft now, and he slumped down a little further, head resting against your heart. His eyes start to flutter closed. “Well, perhaps…” he murmurs. “Perhaps if I hope it… I might be able to find you again… tomorrow night.”

You feel warmth spread out from your chest and through your body, like his affirmation of his belief in you is what keeps you sustained, keeps you away from oblivion. Everything feels so solid, the air smells like pine trees and the couch is soft against your back. His ability to hope you into a more concrete existence is clear now, and you smile. “Count on it,” you say. “As long as you believe it, I’m gonna be here.”

Jake smiles and plants a kiss on your chest before his eyes shut and stay that way, his breathing evening out and a small sigh escaping him as he shifts, settling into the curve of your chest and the warmth of your body.

The body that he gave you. Dream or no dream, you were as real as you could be in someone’s imagination, and that feeling, that sudden ability to actually exist, was a gift.

As you start to drift off to sleep as well, wrapped around the man who believes in you more than you believe in yourself, you think briefly that when he wakes up, it’ll be in his bed in reality, alone. You wonder if maybe, somehow, you could wake up with him, and you hold onto that, as well as the prospect of feeling this way tomorrow night, all over again, another version of again.

Somewhere, in another house, another body, another splinter, you feel something that makes your heart stop. You’re still here in the dream, still tangled up with Jake, close and heavy with love and desire and fulfillment, but that part of you with the infinite connection to the Original Dirk, the Real Dirk, stirs, awakening in you as if from a long slumber.

As you fall asleep on the dream couch in Jake’s mind, you feel another splinter of yourself waking up.

Waking up, and remembering.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with [absolutely phenomenal art](http://dorlu.tumblr.com/post/148179106168/read-hexmeridian-s-bgdjake-fic-dreaming-in) by Allyssinian!


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